


Against the Clock

by Cuda (Scylla)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Car Sex, Castiel in Panties, Hand Jobs, M/M, Sastiel - Freeform, Sastiel Love Week, Semi-Public Sex, Sex in a Car, Sex in the Impala
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 16:34:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12708753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scylla/pseuds/Cuda
Summary: Written for Sastiel Love Week, November 2017. Sam and Castiel have roughly an hour to wrap this up, give or take a lovely bartender's cooperation. Sam realizes the value of negotiating scenes in advance - especially when you're trying to get laid by an Angel of the Lord in the middle of a dive bar parking lot.





	Against the Clock

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyShadowphyre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyShadowphyre/gifts).



With a slow, steadying breath, Sam watched through the windshield as Dean disappeared into the bar.

“Okay,” Sam whispered, “we’ve probably got an hour. Maybe less.”

Castiel leaned forward from the back seat. “Dean’s interrogating the bartender we were unable to contact this afternoon.”

“Exactly,” Sam answered with a smirk, turning his head until Castiel’s jaw was perfectly lined up with his mouth. Body heat radiated from him like a sun, and in the chilly Minnesota night Sam could feel it like a kiss.

Castiel kept staring out at the bar, as if the blinking neon exclamations of “HOT EATS & COLD BEER” were answers to a troubling physics equation. Or maybe he could see through the wall, watching Dean sally forth to the bar like a flannel-armored Musketeer.

“Our questions, in total, equal about six minutes. Well,” Castiel’s eyes dropped, “six minutes and thirty-eight seconds, give or take Dean’s speech patterns. But even taking in the variables of improvisation and Abigail’s willingness to cooperate, that still accounts for only a quarter of an hour at most.”

Sam couldn’t resist any longer. Smiling to himself, he smoothed the fold of Castiel’s collar, and followed the soft vee down to warm skin. Castiel twitched like a bird and cocked his head, considering Sam one-eyed.

“Do we have an hour?” Castiel asked, and tasted his own lips. Slow as a good fantasy.

“Abigail is Dean’s type,” Sam said with a low grin, “trust me.”

“But we’ve never met her.”

“She’s thirty, every guy we talked to today was practically drooling over her, and she’s been bartending here for six years. _Trust_ me,” Sam repeated, “if anyone knows how to play the game, it’s her.”

“Dean plays games with women?” Castiel asked, brow furrowing at the neon again. All motion stopped while he computed.

Sam frowned. “No! I mean, not like that. It’s just - flirting. I can explain later.”

“Later?” Castiel asked, “Why not–” he turned his gaze back to Sam and paused. Sam’s fingers stroked the back of his neck, burrowed between shirt and skin.

“Oh,” Castiel breathed.

Sam laughed, looking down and away, a little shocked at his own persistence. This thing between them was still new - the novelty of intimacy was as terrifying as it was enticing. “Yeah,” he said, “So. You’re wearing them?”

Castiel’s gaze hooded. He leaned to Sam, stretching over the seat back, until his lips brushed the rim of Sam’s ear. “Yes I am, Sam. I’d forgotten.”

Eyes slammed shut, Sam pulled his hand free of Castiel’s collar and cupped the other side of his head. Pulling him in. Just a half inch more. “Can I see?”

The answer to that was an enthusiastic affirmative.

Sam hauled his ass into the back seat - liberally aided by a suddenly handsy angel. In another minute, Castiel’s fly was down and Sam’s hands hit pay dirt.

“They’re soft,” Castiel said, breath gusting in Sam’s ear, “I see why you liked them.”

The panties didn’t fit properly; they weren’t made to. But they were very, very soft. The blue satin was skin-warm under Sam’s touch as his palm rode Castiel’s hip.

“Do you like them?” Sam asked, tracing the waistband where it clung for dear life, three inches below decent. A quick breath and a slow groan were his rewards.

“I do, Sam,” Castiel replied. His hands unclenched from the seat backs like he remembered he had them. They found purchase in Sam’s jacket and yanked him into a hungry kiss.

Sam was glad to have a row of cars between them and the bar - even more for the high windows clotted with neon beer ads. Because Castiel straddled Sam’s lap now, and that pale shirt would show up like a white flag of surrender to anyone looking.

But nobody was looking.

Nobody but Sam.

Castiel’s trousers were a memory, then, and Sam had his knuckles beneath the crotch of the slippery blue satin. He tugged Castiel free of the overfull fabric, stroking him lightly, as the feverish heat of his skin sparked an answering burn. Fingers scrabbled at Sam’s belt. He bucked his hips under Castiel’s weight, straining to lift them both until the belt - and Sam’s fly, subsequently - was out of the way.

“This seems like a bad idea,” Castiel said abruptly. Sam’s heart skipped a track.

“Y-yeah?” Sam asked, panting, feeling Castiel’s cold fingers on his exposed belly like icicles, inches from his dick. He closed his eyes and summoned whatever scraps of will he had left.

“We could find a place with less visibility and time pressure,” Castiel said, “we wouldn’t have to rush.”

Forcing himself to breathe more slowly, Sam nodded. “Sure. Uh. For the record though - rushing is kinda hot, to me. I mean, someone could catch us.”

“You want to be caught?”

Sam laughed. “Not really? But the fear. I mean, that’s the - it’s one thing that turns me on. There’s lots of other stuff though. Like how you look right now.”

The compliment went unacknowledged, as Castiel stilled again. Became a brain without a body for a few seconds. Then he was back, and a new, wiseass smirk painted Sam’s lips with a kiss.

“Evading capture,” Castiel growled in Sam’s mouth, “that _is_ arousing.”

Sam’s heart took two great leaps and launched into flight. He ground his hips up between Castiel’s with a growl of his own. “I _know_ , right?”

In answer, Castiel’s hand dug deep, curling hot around Sam while the other caught the back of his neck. His kiss was a wild thing, fiery and searching, and Sam rose to meet it with a breathless dark laugh.

For the record, they were done in less than an hour.

Unfortunately, Abigail turned out to be even better at the game than Sam wagered. He and Castiel were still leaning against one another, sipping kisses and touches in the afterglow, when a tapping on the window startled them both.

Dean looked down at them, eyebrows buried in his hairline.

“Your projections were a little off,” Castiel said. His shameless little grin was almost worth Dean’s outrage over someone not him having sex in the back seat of his car.

Fuck, Sam thought; no.

 _Totally_ worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> I misinterpreted this day's theme, and by the time I realized my mistake I was already hip-deep in car sex. Whoops!


End file.
